The Smell Of Coffee
by Caillieach
Summary: Life is like a river, sometimes flowing calmly, sometimes turbulent and sometimes obstacles force it to seek new, unexplored ways. This is the story of how a chance meeting changed two men's lives.


**Disclaimer:**

_All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners, here: Square Enix. Any possible future original characters & plots are my own. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended. I do not earn money with this._

* * *

Tredd notices him the moment he enters the coffee shop, the little bell announcing new customers chiming its happy tune above the blond's head. He doesn't know his name, but the man has been coming every Friday just after the afternoon rush ended like clockwork. He'd order his usual French press Spiced Vanilla Latte and not much else and sit in the corner over at the window, watching life passing by outside for hours, sipping his drink lost in thoughts.

To be honest, Tredd has sort of gotten used to the guy. Sure, they have a couple regular customers who frequent the shop often, some even on a daily basis, but not many of them stay to enjoy their coffee here but take it to-go instead. He would lie if he said he wasn't somewhat fond of Monica, the lady who would always pass by during her lunch break to pick up her daily dose of caffeine (and sometimes a coffee so strong - for her boss, she said - he has to force down a full body shudder just by making it. There's such a thing as too much caffeine, even for someone like him who lives and breathes the thing) and who would always cheerfully wish him or his co-workers a nice day.

Then there's councilman Theodorus, an older gentleman who takes advantage of the shop's proximity to the Citadel even though he's one of those customers who are rarely satisfied with their drinks. Tredd prides himself on being a good barista, he likes to think he's very professional, but sometimes he's really struggling to keep the friendly smile on his face when Theodorus is in one of his less pleasant moods and wastes no time to inform him that his coffee is mediocre at best again. (He may have added the sign proclaiming **'Come in and try the worst coffee one man on Trip Advisor ever had in his life!'** out of spite but when the councilman actually tells him "that man the sign outside is about had it right!" the next time he visits, it's pretty damn hilarious and Tredd is very pleased with himself.)

There's the little old lady from the next block who uses their coffee shop as an excuse to stop by on her daily walk and take a breather while she is waiting for her customary herbal tea. She likes to tell him (or whoever is on duty that day) stories while she waits for the tea to steep, so he knows that she only takes those walks because her grandchildren pester her about it so she "stays mobile in my old age even though my damn hip makes walking really difficult and they know it". She has been coming by for longer than he has been working here and the whole staff thinks of her as some sort of honorary grandmother by now.

Contrary to that, his blond-haired regular started to frequent the shop only a few short weeks ago - but he quickly developed a routine and if Tredd is entirely honest, the man is intriguing him. He can't really put his finger on it but he is used to deal with a high number of people every day, their faces and voices tend to blend together the longer he has been working already, and despite that and the underlying typical coffee shop noises, the quiet, soft-spoken voice immediately stood out to him the first time the blond ordered his drink, a polite expression on his face.

As he is preparing a young businessman's order, he keeps a subtle eye on the blond. He failed to show up last week and the week before and that has never happened before. It took Tredd until the end of his shift the second week his favourite customer didn't show up to identify the growing odd dejected feeling behind his breastbone as worry. It is not that he has a reason to worry (and 'honestly, you don't even know the guy, he's just a customer, what the hell, Furia?') but he has been studying the man during lulls in business for almost the entire duration of his patronage.

What he saw was a tall, strong, obviously fit and objectively handsome man in his mid to late twenties? a bit on the fair side with dark blond, almost light brown swept back hair and the stormiest blue-grey eyes he'd ever seen to match. Going by his first impression Tredd absolutely didn't expect the man to be so soft spoken. The blond carried himself like a soldier, very upright and alert while he waited in line but the moment he sat down in his by now usual chair by the window, Tredd could almost see how the tension bled out of his broad shoulders. To boot, his previously somewhat commanding presence changed to an almost pensive and most definitely lonely aura and he honestly doesn't know what to make of that.

So, he keeps studying the blond at every chance he gets.

Today, there is something different about how the man carries himself, he notices, when he hands the businessman his drink who turns to leave with a "Thanks" carelessly thrown over his shoulder and thus finally clears his view of his mystery guy. It takes him a moment to identify what's bothering him, even as that voice he can't forget orders "One Spiced Vanilla Latte, French press, please." and he hums as he starts preparing the order, taking extra care to create a swan-shaped latte art in the foam. It hits him when he looks up to hand the blond his drink; his usual fair complexion looks pale today, and he's holding himself somewhat rigid compared to his usual posture. Lost in thought, Tredd leans on the counter as he watches the man make his way over to his favourite chair – which is why he does not miss the subtle wince the blond can't quite hide as he lowers himself slowly and gingerly into it.

Tredd unconsciously straightens up. 'What was that? Is he injured?'

He keeps shooting glances at the man while he begins to clean the automated coffee machine, refills the coffee beans in the grinder and stocks the display with a fresh batch of Caem Carrot Muffins, their newest creation. He remembers how Linda, his supervisor, gushed about those when she came back from her vacation near Cape Caem and insisted they add them to their menu 'because they have so many important nutrients but also taste really good in cakes and who says we can't come up with our own recipe?'.

Tredd actually pauses in motion when his gaze falls onto their Accordan Ginger Blueberry Tart sitting to the left in the display in front of him before he absentmindedly continues fiddling with the machine. 'Didn't I read somewhere that those have high anti-inflammatory properties or something? Wasn't that in that health magazine that woman forgo-…' "Ah, shit", Tredd curses under his breath. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he'd accidentally steamed his finger instead of the milk and 'Astrals, it hurts!'. He hurries to hold his maltreated finger under cold water and sighs in relief when the burning lessens a bit. 'That will teach me to pay attention to what I'm doing, at least for a while, I guess.'

His finger taken care of and the stinging somewhat lessened, Tredd considers the Ginger Blueberry Tart again. It's not like he knows the blond is injured for sure and if he is, of what nature his injury is but 'It won't hurt him either way, I suppose. Besides, Great grandma swore that ginger was what kept her healthy for all of her 94 years so…' Decision made, he takes advantage of the quiet afternoon lull and carefully prepares a plate with a generous slice of their tart, complete with a little plate decoration and a small helping of cream. He stops for a moment and studies the man again. By now, he has settled down into the plush pillows of the arm chair and stares outside with an absentminded, empty gaze. It looks like he is favouring his left side so Tredd pulls himself together and approaches the blond.

"On the house…" he murmurs as he sets the plate down next to the cup with an almost inaudible click when the man does not acknowledge him.

The blond startles and promptly winces and Tredd has to suppress the guilt that is immediately surging up in his throat. He didn't mean to-

"…are you sure?" the man's low voice shakes him out of his motionlessness, and he straightens up.

"Yes, sir, I'm quite sure" he confirms and elects to ignore how the small and tired but genuine smile he earns for that makes his breath catch in his throat for a moment. He gives the blond a reassuring smile and retreats to the safety of his position behind the counter. 'Astrals, get a grip, Furia, it's just a silly gesture and besides, you don't even know if it will help or not' he chides himself. He gives himself a moment to calm himself before he resumes completing his tasks again. He will have to remember to put the money for the tart into the register at the end of his shift.

No one has to know about the warm and satisfied feeling he gets when he risks a glance some time later and sees that only some crumps are left of the cake. And when he thinks the man moves a little less gingerly when he leaves with a friendly "Until next time-" accompanied by another small smile…well, it could just be his imagination, but it makes him feel as if he has accomplished something, nonetheless.

* * *

From that day on, Tredd develops a new routine. He makes sure to go out of his way to gift the blond – and he would really love to get a name because always calling him 'the blond' or 'the man' in his thoughts got old pretty fast – with a different latte art on his drink every time he stops by. And he catches himself more than once keeping a careful eye on the man, studying his posture, always on the lookout for more injuries.

It happens four more times that the man doesn't come in for a week or two and seems to be hiding injuries under those fluffy, cosy sweaters of his that made an appearance when temperatures began to fall, when he comes back. Tredd finds himself watching the blond like a hawk on those occasions and notices more than one half-surpressed wince or the occasional furrowed brow. Somehow, he became attuned to this particular customer without ever really speaking with him and he honestly doesn't know what to think of that. In the end, he chooses to not overthink it and proceeds to present the blond with a little something "on the house" on those occasions and is always rewarded with that tiny smile which stubbornly insists to make his stomach flip every time.

And if he always tries to choose pastries with ingredients known for their healing properties like Duscaen Oranges or Ulwaat Berries and never fails to put the appropriate sum into the register when he closes the shop for the night, no one has to know.

* * *

It is a grey, chilly day in November when he finally learns the blond's name. The man came in about an hour ago and is nestled comfortably in his preferred nook with a book and his obligatory Spiced Vanilla Latte, the sleeves of his forest green sweater pushed up to his elbows due to the warmth inside, when the bell above the door rings and a loud group of young men bustles in. Tredd suppresses an amused grin when a tall, lithe man with thin braids in his somewhat windswept black hair audibly complains to who he identifies as the Marshal of the Crownsguard - the whine in his voice somewhat comical in Tredd's eyes - "Do you really need to cater to your caffeine addiction now? We'll be home in 20 minutes anyway!" only to be hit over the head by the tiny brunette woman with a "Shut it, Nyx".

He takes the Marshal's order (he briefly wonders if he is the guy Monica always gets the coffee with almost unhealthy caffeine levels for) and doesn't really pays attention to their banter (and really, they aren't subtle at all, he's pretty sure they are a thing just from witnessing their behaviour) until the other, a little sturdier guy with braids in his hair calls out "Hey Luche, what are you doing here?" and ambles over to the blond in his quiet little corner.

'Huh, Luche…that's his name?' a part of his brain wonders even as he watches how the rest of the merry band of Galahdians – because it's obvious, really, just look at the braids and tattoos – save the Marshal join their friend at the blond's – no, Luche's table. He frowns a bit upon noticing the ma- Luche looks almost uncomfortable as he straightens in his chair and puts his book aside before he utters "I could ask you the same, Libertus. Since when do you drink coffee, anyway?" Tredd watches as Libertus makes to answer only to be interrupted by…Nyx, was it?

"I didn't take you for one of those domestic types who hide away in coffee shops in their free time of all places, Luche." Which is promptly answered with a heartfelt "Fuck off, Nyx."

Tredd listens in amused disbelief how the conversation spirals into an all-out snarkfest from that point on while he focuses on creating his personal brand of latte art on the Marshal's order. Without thinking about it first he blurts out "Are they always like that?" and feels the tips of his ears burn in mortification right afterwards. 'Astrals, that's the Marshal and I just-` "Pretty much, yeah." the Marshal interrupts his panicking thoughts, "But I'm 90% sure frankly unhealthy levels of snark are an actual requirement to join the Glaive at this point."

Tredd's entire thought process stutters to a halt. 'The… Glaive?'

He doesn't realise he's spoken out loud until the Marshal answers him once again. "Hmm, that bunch of idiots over there are all members of the Glaive even if you'd be hard pressed to believe it right now." A tiny part of his brain notices the exasperated affection in the Marshal's voice, but he is pretty sure he doesn't have the mental capacity to deal with more than one revelation tilting his world on its axis at the time. He's almost afraid to ask and licks his lips nervously, but… "All of them? Even the blond guy?" he hears himself ask. He honestly was not prepared for the Marshal's answer.

"The blond? Yeah, that's Luche Lazarus, the Glaives' 2nd in command."

* * *

He is almost grateful that the other Glaives don't seem to be in a hurry to leave. It gives him the opportunity to sort his thoughts out and shake the surprise off again, so when they finally leave with the Marshal in tow, he's managed to mostly calm down again. He doesn't know why he feels so thrown over this. Maybe it's because he has trouble connecting the quiet young man he has come to know to what he has heard of the Glaive and especially their commanding officers. He guesses he shouldn't be surprised, actually. He did think the blo- Luche held himself like military when he came by the first time and if the freaking Glaive didn't fit the bill, he didn't know what did. 'That's why he came back injured all those times…!'Tredd realises with a jolt. Suddenly, it all makes sense.

He still feels a little off-kilter when he catches the bl-Luche signalling for a refill. Before he knows it, he's creating beautiful latte art – he's attempting a Galahdian eagle this time – again and without consciously thinking about it, he adds a slice of their homemade Chocolate Mocha Cake (on the house again, he really ought to be careful to not let the manager see) because the- Luche still looks a little peeved and exhausted and his Ma always said "Chocolate makes everything better". It also prompts him to tentatively ask "You okay?" as he sets the drink and plate down in front of the man instead of immediately retreating like he usually does.

Those stormy blue-grey eyes look up from the book in the blond's lap and focus on him for a long moment. Tredd internally panics that he's overstepped a boundary, so he attempts to backtrack with an "I'm sorry, it's none of my business!" and curses himself six ways to the Infernian. 'And there went my professionality…'

"No, it's alright, thank you for your concern." Luche smiles at him. "I'm fine, really. They can just be a little much and I specifically come here when I need a break so…. seeing them here was unexpected." He briefly lowers his eyes as he picks the fresh cup up before his attention is back on Tredd.

Tredd exhales under his breath and thinks 'He's not mad, thank the Astrals-', even as a part of him marvels at the other's long eyelashes for a second. He swallows. "Alright then, that's good…I'll leave you to your reading then." And with that and a (somewhat shaky) smile he beats a hasty retreat to his sanctuary behind the counter.

'Astrals, Furia, get a damn grip! You're a grown ass man, there's no need to act all bashful just because you have a freaking crush!' he angrily chides himself and proceeds to take his frustration with himself out by aggressively wiping the counter clean. Because that's what it is, he belatedly realises, he has an astraldamned crush.

When he looks up and notices the calm, relaxed aura surrounding Luche (who somehow managed to inhale the cake within record time) now, he resolves to try to get to know him better. At the very least, it seems like the man could use a non-Glaive friend.

* * *

The next time Luche comes by and orders his customary drink, Tredd casually asks him about his day while he fiddles with the coffee machine. He did not expect an answer but is pleasantly surprised when Luche gives one, anyway. Before long, it becomes part of their routine.

From there, it doesn't take long, and they strike up small conversations which progress to lengthier debates whenever Tredd doesn't have to tend to his customers. Luche still favours his out-of-the-way chair in the corner on some days, but on others, he plops himself down right at the counter, ready to continue their discussion from the week before or to start a new one. Tredd never asks him straight out about his work because it seems to be a sensitive topic (he knows that the blond has good and bad days and he makes sure to provide him with chocolate-y treats on bad days because chocolate helps) – and he is rewarded when Luche gradually lowers his walls and opens up to him.

* * *

It is spring when Luche asks him if he would like to come along to the street festival in the Galahdian sector. It is not a date, but they have a great time – Luche almost chokes on his laughter when Tredd tries one of the spicy Galahdian skewers and almost cries because apparently there's a difference between spicy and Galahdian spicy and despite his pain, he treasures the sound – and from then on, casual outings become a thing for them. (And if Tredd memorised how that traditional Galahdian drink Luche liked so much tasted and sneakily included his own version of it in their menu under pretences to cater to a broader clientele when it's really just for Luche, no one had to know.)

* * *

It is late summer and the first leaves in Insomnia Park are already turning all shades of gold and red when Luche takes his hand without comment and squeezes lightly, almost quizzical. Tredd squeezes back, and they share a smile before they continue on their way to a friendly outing with Luche's friends' hand in hand.

* * *

'What did I do to deserve this?' Tredd once again wonders. It is a question he frequently asks himself because his life as it is now somehow seems almost unreal to him. It has been three years - two since he quit his job and joined the Glaive (which led to their first big fight but Tredd refused to reconsider even when his boyfriend begged him to because his Da taught him to always protect those he loves and…granted, Luche doesn't really need protection, he can take care of himself just fine, but Tredd's old-fashioned like that and if he's the one who has Luche's back he doesn't have to worry about him alone at home) and they've been the best three years of his life. Despite the fighting and the injuries and the horrible reality of losing their comrades, losing the war. They've been the best because Luche is in his life and in quiet moments like this he marvels how a chance meeting in a coffee shop led to where he is now.

Luche sighs and shifts in his sleep and curls impossibly tighter around him until he comes to rest with his cheek on Tredd's chest. Smiling, Tredd tightens his hold around the other's waist and leans down to press a soft kiss into his hair before he too gets comfortable in the cool cotton sheets Luche favours so much.

'I truly am a lucky bastard' he thinks before he too drifts off to sleep to the sound of his partner's quiet breathing.

* * *

Two years later, Insomnia falls.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

So. This is actually the first story I ever finished. It's relatively short, true, but it still feels really good to have at least one finished plot bunny under my belt.

Some wonderful people on a Discord server I'm in came up with this amazing idea of the "rarepair prompts" to spread the rarepair love and increase the content for all those who've been searching for certain pairings without success out there - and thus, the FFXV Rarepair Army was born (you can find it on tumblr too!).

The prompt for this was obviously Coffeeshop/Barista AU which meant I had to do some research because I've never worked in a coffeeshop before. I hope that isn't absolutely _glaringly _obvious. Anyway, the plot developed a mind of its own and this is the result.

I hope you enjoyed it. Any feedback is greatly appreciated!

And if you maybe view Luche/Tredd in a different light now...my work here is done. 😊


End file.
